Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - A Rainy Ride to Powai Turns Paranormal A Vanishing Passenger on the Airoli Bridge Route #65

Episode Date: September 6, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales#vanishingpassenger #ghostencounter #trueindianhorror #paranormalride #urbanlegends  "A Rainy Ride to Powai Turns Paranormal: A Vanishing Passenger on the Airoli Bridge Route" is a chilling urban horror tale based in India. On a stormy night, a driver picks up a soaked passenger near Airoli Bridge, only for the man to mysteriously vanish mid-ride without a trace. The unsettling experience leads to questions about reality, spirits, and what really lurks on rainy roads in the dead of night. Inspired by real urban legends and local folklore, this story blends atmospheric suspense with a slow-building dread that stays long after the engine stops.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, vanishingpassenger, paranormalencounter, ghoststory, hauntedbridge, indianurbanlegend, powaihorror, nightdrive, rainynight, supernaturalride, airoliincident, ghostonthehighway, realghoststory, spookyindianstory, terrifyingencounter

There's so much rugby on Sports Exter from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter Sports Extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for their terms apply. Collini, did you know if your age between 25 and 65?

Well, you can get a free HPV cervical check. It's one of the best ways to protect yourself from cervical cancer. And you know what? I actually checked only recently when mine was due and no exaggeration. It took me less than five minutes. You go online to hsec.org slash cervical check. But in your PPS number, check in the date of birth. And then they tell you when your next appointment is due.

Oh my God. I know. I know. And you can check you're on the register on the website so you can phone [phone]. If your test is due today, you can book today are hsccccc. i.e. 4 slash cervical check. You know how people always say weird stuff happens during late night drives. Like, those urban legends about phantom hitchhikers or haunted highways.

I used to laugh at those stories. Thought it was all nonsense, honestly. That was until I had my own freaky encounter. It was one of those days in June, or maybe early July. I don't remember exactly. All I know is that the rains had arrived in Mumbai. and the whole city was drowning in that sticky wetness. Puddles everywhere, humidity clinging to your skin and the sky that thick gray color like it was pissed off. Work had me on the road late,

again. Typical, right? I was heading from Navi Mumbai to Poway. Anyone who's ever done that stretch knows it's a long haul, and you get plenty of time to think about all the life choices that landed you there. Normally, I'd take the Eastern Express, but that day I decided to switch things up. I figured the Aroli Bridge route might be faster. Bad call, maybe. But hey, I liked driving, and my car, this old, beat-up sedan I'd poured way too much money into, was my escape. It wasn't the best car. Hell, it was probably one bad day away from the scrap heap, but I loved it anyway. She wasn't fancy, but she had character. You know, little quirks, like the radio only working when you banged the dashboard just right, or how the passenger door would

randomly jam for no reason. That evening, though, she was giving me trouble. The rain was coming down hard, wipers swishing back and forth like they were fighting for their lives, and my tires made that hiss-sh sound against the wet road. I was cruising slow, not because I wanted to, but because even I knew better than to mess around on slick streets. And then, just as I was passing near Embani Hospital, my car started coughing like an asthmatic old man. You know that feeling when the engine gives you that weird stutter, and you instantly get that sinking feeling in your gut? Yeah, that. Not now, I muttered, patting the dashboard like it was a sick pet. Come on, girl. Don't do this to me, but she didn't listen. A second later, she sputtered one last time and went

dead. The lights on the dash went dark, and I just sat there in stunned silence, listening to the rain pounding on the roof. Great. Just great. I managed to steer her over to the side near a bus stop. At least I wasn't blocking traffic. I popped the hood, grabbed an umbrella from the back seat, and stepped out into the rain. Warm, muggy water instantly soaked my shoes. The trick with this car was simple. The best of the bed. The best of the air. The best of the rain. The best of the battery connection liked to wiggle loose on rough roads, so all I usually had to do was reset it. I leaned over the engine, messing around in there, hands slipping on wet metal. That's when I noticed him. This old man had appeared out of nowhere.

He was standing under the tiny shelter of the bus stop, clutching a plastic bag in one hand. Thin, wiry guy with a shock of white hair and one of those crumpled faces that told you he'd seen too much life. his korda was damp, sticking to his bony frame, and his sandals were muddy. Car trouble, he asked in Hindi, his voice soft but carrying over the rain. Yeah. Old car issues, I said, forcing a grin. He nodded like he knew exactly what I meant. Maybe he did. I mean, anyone who's owned an ancient vehicle in Mumbai learns a thing or two about these random breakdowns. Once I got the battery clipped back in place, I turned the ignition.

To my relief, the engine roared back to life. Success. Where are you headed, uncle? I asked, out of pure politeness. A head. To the toll, he said vaguely. Well, I'm heading that way too. Hop in.

I'll drop you. He hesitated for a second. His eyes flicked toward the car, then back at me. Something about the way he looked at it gave me this odd, prickly sensation on the back of my neck. But he didn't say no. Okay, he said finally, and shuffled over. I unlocked the doors, and he slid into the passenger seat carefully, like he was stepping into sacred ground.

I noticed he kept his bag clutched tight to his chest. Seatbelt. I suggested as I pulled back on to my chest. to the road. No need. Just drive slow, he said. Normally, I'd ignore that kind of thing. But there was something about his tone that made me ease up on the gas. I wasn't in the mood to argue anyway. I just wanted to get home. There's so much rugby on Sports Exter from Sky, they've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter sports extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every

Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the challenge cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place. Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampacked with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra.

New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months further terms apply. Collini, did you know if your age between 25 and 65? Well, you can get a free HPV cervical check. It's one of the best ways to protect yourself from cervical cancer. And you know what? I actually checked only recently when mine was due and no exaggeration

it took me less than five minutes. You go online to hsse.com but in your PPS number check in the date of birth and then they tell you when your next appointment is due. Oh my gosh, that's real. And you can check you're on the register

on the website so you can phone [phone]. If your test is due today you can book it today are hsc.c.i. 4 slash cervical check. Take a hot shower

and sleep for 12 hours. We didn't talk much. After a couple of awkward, so how's the rain treating you, type of exchanges, he went quiet. Just sat there, staring out the window like the world outside was a movie only he could see. But I couldn't stop sneaking glances at him. Something about his presence felt, off. Not in a bad way exactly, but weird.

You ever get around someone who makes the air in the car feel heavier. That's how it felt. Then, as we were approaching the Aroli underpass, he suddenly, sat bolt upright. Stop here, he said sharply. I blinked. What? Here.

This isn't even. Stop. Now. His voice had risen to a panic. Whoa. Okay. I swerved over to the shoulder and slowed down. All right, all right.

Chill, Uncle, as soon as I hit the lock button, he grabbed the door handle. But it wouldn't open. Oh, damn. Sorry. That door jams sometimes. Hold on, I'll come around. He was breathing fast, clutching at the handle like it was a lifeline. I could see his knuckles turning white. Please hurry, he said in a choked whisper. I got out, jogged around to the passenger side, fumbling with the key. Rain was pelting me hard now, soaking through my t-shirt. Stupid door, I muttered, wrestling with it. After a few tries, I heard the satisfying click of the lock releasing.

There you go, Uncle, I said, yanking the door open. But the seat was empty. I froze. What the hell? I leaned in, scanning the seat. No old man. No plastic bag. Nothing.

My stomach dropped. I spun around. scanning the road. The shoulder was empty too. Just wet asphalt stretching away in both directions. No sign of him. I opened the back door, even though I knew how insane that was. Maybe he'd, what? Climmed into the back seat while I wasn't looking. But nope. The back seat was as empty as the front. The only sound was the rain drumming on the roof and my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. and then I noticed something else. The passenger seat was dry.

Completely dry. No wet footprints on the floor mat. No damp patch where his Cuda should have left a mark. I stood there for a solid minute, getting soaked, staring into my car like an idiot. Had I imagined him? Was I so tired that my brain had invented a whole conversation with a ghost? I slammed the door shut and walked back to the driver's side. My hands were shaking as I gripped the wheel.

When I finally pulled back onto the road, I drove slower than I ever had in my life. Every shadow, every flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made me jump. As I crossed the toll, I caught myself glancing at the passenger seat every few seconds, half expecting to see him sitting there again, staring at me with those watery eyes. But there was nothing. Just me. I made it home in one piece. parked the car, stumbled inside, collapsed on my bed without even changing out of my wet clothes.

And for hours, I lay there wide-eyed, replaying the whole thing in my head. Was he real? Was I real? Or had I just given a ghost a ride and lived to tell the tale? To this day, I don't know the answer. And I'm not sure I want to. But every time I take that road now, especially in the rain, I can't help but. check my rearview mirror just in case. Because what if he comes back? What if next time, he doesn't want to leave? The end.